It was a pale and sunny New Caprican afternoon which didn’t imply for a moment that it was warm. The man walking though the sand was of little more than average height and had a compact body, sculpted from years of work loading and unloading with Picon’s largest supply company. He wound his way towards the gleaming silhouette that was Colonial One. In his early forties, he had short blond hair that had more than begun to recede and warm blue eyes. His lips had a gentle curve to them that his wife had liked. He tried to ignore the metal centurions that prowled the revamped Colonial Heavy.

As he ascended the ladder, he slid his hands slowly over its cool metal rails. How many times had she gone up and down these rungs? Was there any remnant of her here, any clue to the mystery he sought so desperately to solve?

The lithe form that was President Baltar sat at his desk, not nearly exuding the confidence of the man in the picture behind him. Were those velvet pants? A young man, obviously an aide, sat in one of the chairs before the desk. He was engrossed in a pile of notes in his lap. There were others and he quickly decided that they were a very different sort of aide. One of those incredible looking blonde Cylons stood behind Baltar; her cleavage distracted his eye. He forced himself to look at Baltar as he approached the desk.

“May I offer you a cigarette, Mister President?” He opened a small well worn box and Baltar’s senses were awash in the spicy sharp scent of expensive Caprican cigarettes. Baltar smiled impishly.

“By all means, Mister -” Baltar reached for one of the slender, black, cylinders.

“Edom. Karl Edom.” He produced a lighter and Baltar allowed him to light his cigarette.

Baltar closed his eyes. The nicotine rush was exhilarating. “Please, sit down.”

Karl allowed himself a wary glance at the blond Cylon and sat down. The young aide who occupied the other chair actually glanced at him before his eyes found the notes again.

He considered Baltar. The man was downright jittery. His eyes never seemed to stop moving and seemed wet, as if he’d been crying. The hand holding the cigarette vibrated slightly causing ashes to land haphazardly on the desk. The man did spend his every day with the skin jobs. That would be enough to make him jumpy too.

“I have a proposition for you, Mister President,” he said when the smoke seemed to calm Baltar enough to steady his eyes. He set the box of remaining cigarettes between them on the desk. “There is more,” he indicated the box. “I need information.”

“Never could say no to a proposition.“ Baltar pursed his lips and glanced knowingly at the Cylon. “What sort of information?”

He decided to be direct. “President Roslin-”

“Former President.” Baltar interrupted.

“Yes. The former President was dying of breast cancer. Now she is not. I need to know how and why.”

“What makes you think I know anything about that?” Baltar didn’t look away and continued to smoke casually.

“Come on. We both know that Cottle’s not much more than a mechanic. Only a man of true genius could solve a problem such as hers.” He knew Baltar, mostly by reputation, to be extremely self absorbed and the picture behind him seemed to indicate that flattery would not be wasted on the man.

“Well, that certainly is true.” Baltar tipped his chin in affirmation of his own brilliance. “But even a genius pales in comparison to a miracle from God … Gods,” he cleared his throat, “…the Gods … you understand.”

“If you believe Pythia, then you know her cure wasn’t the will of the Gods.“ Karl tapped a slim finger on the box of cigarettes. “I have an entire case, most likely the last one known to man.”

Baltar licked his lips. “You know, of course, that there is nothing stopping me from confiscating your goods. As a matter of,” he paused, “Presidential priority.”

“They would be destroyed before any of your men could get near them.”

Well, we can’t let that happen. “Leave the box,” Baltar said finally, “and I will consider your offer.”

Was it just him or did the Cylon look agitated? “That’s all I ask.”

Baltar dismissed Karl with a weak wristed sweep of his hand. He watched the man leave, blowing smoke rings towards his retreating form. When the man was gone, he flicked a glance over his shoulder. “These are incredible, you really should try one.” Caprica Six’s long fingernails glided along the skin of his neck.

“Careful, Gaius,” she said softly into his ear.

Baltar turned towards her. “Why? Hera is dead.” He took a long, lazy drag from the cigarette, remembering the execution order he’d been forced to sign. “And it’s not like Roslin will be around to care.”

***

Roslin barely stopped herself from careening into Kara’s back. Civilians had them trapped, bodies clogging the ducts at both ends. Voices reverberated off of the metal that surrounded them and the temperature rose from the rapidly accumulating body heat. The air was becoming stale, hard to breathe and the smell that had been merely bad was approaching unbearable.

“We got ‘em”

“Get outta there, frakkin’ gophers.”

“Who did we get?”

Great, a mob. How the hell was she going to get Roslin past a mob? That bastard on the PA had known exactly what he was doing. If only she had something to barter with. Her mind teased her with ridiculous possibilities …yeah, hey, I’ve got the President here and I promise she’ll listen to all your grievances if you would just let us through… Hands were pulling at them now, forcing them towards the open grate. Kara thanked the Gods she wasn’t the claustrophobic type. It seemed like she spent half her life in flight suits and cramped cockpits. Roslin seemed fine but Kara caught a hint of panic in her eyes and tightness in her form that indicated otherwise. Maybe when they see who it is … She leaned towards Roslin, yelling to be heard over the vocal haze. “Frak it. I’m going to try talking us out of this. If it doesn’t work, be ready to run.” If you want my professional opinion, we’re screwed.

Roslin nodded wondering if Kara had ever managed to talk her way out of anything. Kara was forced out the grate first. The cabin she entered was choked with people all trying to get a look at what was hiding in their ventilation system. They were making so much noise that it wouldn’t be long before the wrong person noticed.

“That’s a Viper pilot!”

“She’s hurt.”

“What the frak were you doing in there?”

It wasn’t long before Roslin stood beside her. Rumpled, sweaty and covered in dust she still had the most famous face in the fleet and it didn’t take them long.

“President Roslin? What the frak?”

Kara kept her body in front of Roslin. “Yeah, good, you recognise her. Now, please, I just need to get her off the ship. Please, just get out of the way.”

The people nearest them actually started to part when a man near the door to the cabin shouted into the hallway.

“They’re in here!” He resurfaced in the room and sneered at them. “Sorry,” he said with no hint of apology in his tone. “I voted for Baltar.”

Enraged, Kara began to push through the crowd. An all out brawl ensued as Kara tried to clear a path. “Run!” Roslin heard Kara’s voice but was already making a break for the hallway. She had some help in the form of a couple of burly colonists who were succeeding in pushing people back. She was nearly there when a large man appeared at the door and grabbed her right arm near the shoulder. Her momentum moving outward and the strength of his grasp dragging her inward sent a searing pain through her barely healed limb and tore a scream from her mouth.

Kara turned at the sound and was hit squarely in the jaw by the man who’d voted for Baltar. She tumbled into the group of Colonists beside her. She felt some hands reach out in support.

“Everybody out!” The man holding Roslin had put a gun to her temple.

“Ahh…“ He twisted her shoulder in his grip to cover his body with hers and her vision blurred with tears. There were exclamations and gasps of every kind. Some were distraught; some desperate with regret at flushing them out, some actually urged the man to fire. Kara stood as the Colonists reluctantly filed out, wiping blood from the corner of her mouth.

***

“The tactical situation is a nightmare.” Major Apollo eyed his father over the brightly lit strategy board. A blow-up of the layout of the Bounty was currently spread out in front of him. Admiral Adama, Colonel Tigh, Lt. Gaeta and the head of the Marine Guard had also gathered to discuss tactical options. Playa‘s audio recorder sat in clear view in the middle of the table. The woman herself wisely kept out of the way. “Only about a third of the ship is habitable, most of the space being allocated to storage, but it still leaves us with an extensive search area.” He indicated a dense, fourteen deck block of crew quarters on the schematic of the Bounty. “Since the exodus, the Bounty has taken on more passengers than the ship is rated for -”

“Gonna get messy. Even if these terrorists make themselves easy to identify, which they won‘t, you’re gonna have to kill a lot of civvies to get to them.” Tigh had both hands planted on the situation board.

“Colonel Tigh is right. Getting marines onto the Bounty is no problem. Getting the President and her Raptor crew out is going to be a bloodbath,” Apollo shook his head slowly.

Tigh glared at Apollo. “Damn the civvies, as far as I’m concerned they’re harbouring terrorists now. That makes them compliant. If we don‘t want other ships trying this crazy stunt, we gotta show them what‘s gonna happen if they do.”

“You can’t be serious.” Vice President Zarek had just entered the room. All eyes turned towards him. “Going in there guns blazing is only going to damage the President’s standing in the fleet. The press will run photo after photo of the bodies you leave in your wake.” He looked pointedly at Playa. “Even if you are successful, the fleet will remember nothing else. And if you‘re not …” He let the silence hang.

Apollo recovered first. “Her standing in the fleet? I don’t think the President has the luxury of worrying about her reputation right now.” He glared at Zarek in a manner that while reminiscent of the elder Adama, lacked his father’s intensity.

“Tom Zarek arguing against the use of violence. Will wonders never cease.” Adama threw a warning glance at Tigh but didn‘t reprimand him.

“If you have a better suggestion, Mr. Vice President, we’d like to hear it.” Adama crossed his arms and regarded Zarek.

“There is something here that no one seems to be considering.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. The military was staunch in its support of Roslin’s Presidency and something he’d noticed on New Caprica suggested that the Admiral’s interest in the President didn’t end with their responsibilities to the Fleet. “I think we can all agree that the President is under duress.” He paused but no one spoke. “This puts a tremendous amount of power in the hands of the terrorists should they decide to compel her to act.”

“You better not be suggesting that Laura Roslin would ever give in to the demands of terrorists.” Tigh’s voice was laced with menace. Whatever he had thought of Roslin before New Caprica, his respect for her now ran almost as deep as for the Admiral.

Zarek held up both hands and smiled. “No. Of course not. What I’m saying is that she may not have a choice. It creates an incapacity to discharge the office under the sixteenth amendment to the Articles of Colonization.”

“You’re making a Gods damned power play. Now?” Tigh was furious.

“I’m just trying to protect the fleet … and it would solve your problem. Make Laura Roslin an ordinary citizen of the Colonies and the terrorists lose their bargaining position. And since we currently lack a civilian police force, the military could still be used to secure her release.”

“Son of a-” Adama held up a hand, silencing Tigh.

“Who decides if such an incapacity exists?” Adama asked warily. He wanted all of Zarek’s cards on the table.

“It exists if a majority of the Quorum, including the Vice President and the head of the military say it exists. The powers of the President can only be transferred by written declaration by this majority. I’ve been circling the idea among the Quorum. There is significant support.”

Adama studied Zarek’s face long enough to make the man uncomfortable. “Is there.” It was a statement, not a question. Roslin worked so hard to accommodate the many needs of the members of the Quorum; she gave them more time than she could afford. It disgusted him that they would turn on her so quickly. “I don’t think the current situation calls for this sort of drastic measure.” He paused. “But that may change.”

Zarek nodded, satisfied now that the seed had been planted.

“There is another option, though it’s probably more of a last resort.” Major Adama’s eyes swept the room. “We cut them loose. Withhold the next jump coordinates unless they return our people. They‘d never survive on their own.”

Tigh snorted. “No way. We need those supplies.”

“So we get them first.” Apollo indicated the rows of storage containers that were magnetically affixed beneath the supply ship. “A Viper could easily disrupt the magnetic field holding their cargo. Then we’d just have to pick up the floating containers.”

“And leave more than a thousand people behind including the President and the best pilot we have left. Unacceptable.” Adama ended the discussion.

A second awkward silence ensued.

‘What if the terrorists don’t want the President? What if all they’re after is Laura Roslin?” It was the first time that Gaeta had said anything since the meeting began.

“What?” Adama turned towards him. Gaeta tried to calm his nerves but he couldn’t help the sheen of sweat that had formed on his upper lip.

“Well, sir, we are talking about other considerations. The lack of demands seems to imply that the terrorists already have what they want.” He clasped his hands together tightly to prevent their shaking. Adama would have to jump the table to get to him and surely he wouldn’t do it with a reporter in the room recording everything. He wasn’t so sure about Tigh.

“Spit it out, man. If you have something to tell us, then say it.” It was the first time Adama had let his nerves get the better of him.

“I will, but only to you, Admiral. And I’ll want some assurances first.”

Beside him, Adama felt Tigh’s temperature rise. “Found something out while you were still a traitor, didn’t you?” Adama grabbed Tigh’s arm as he started towards Gaeta.

Gaeta backed off and held up his hand. Playa sat forward in her seat.

“Clear the room.” Adama ordered, raking his gaze over everyone assembled. Gaeta let out the breath he‘d been holding. Tigh still managed to collide roughly with his shoulder as he left the room. “You too.” Adama gestured towards Playa.

“You said I could record everything.” Her voice actually bordered on a whine.

“Yes, I did. The audio recorder stays. You leave.”

Her mouth opened on a rebuttal and then shut again. With an indignant air, she left the room.

When the hatch closed, Adama shut off the recorder and turned back to Gaeta.

“Assurances?” He fixed the younger man with a gaze that would have melted the chrome plating off a Cylon centurion.

“What I know, I overheard in my position as Baltar’s aide. All I want is your personal assurance that I won’t be kneeling in an airlock again.”

“You have it.”

Gaeta proceeded to tell him about Karl Edom and his proposition for Gaius Baltar.

“Baltar gave him what he wanted. He had me deliver a sealed envelope to Edom at his shop in the market. After reading the contents, Edom handed me the case of cigarettes. It’s safe to assume Baltar told him how the President was cured.” He pulled out the passenger manifest for the Bounty. “I caught this after you asked me to assemble information on the Bounty. “ He pointed a finger at two names, both ending in Edom. “That’s why I think he might just want her.”

Adama indicated the second name on the list. “Who’s Henry Edom?”

“I really don’t know, sir. Karl Edom did have others with him in the market.”

“You’ve had this information all this time,” Adama glare actually intensified.

Gaeta took a wary step back. “No, sir, you’ve had me working on the photograph. I hadn’t even looked at the manifest until an hour ago.”

“That’s not what I mean. You‘ve known this since the exodus.” And you could have prevented this you frakked up piece of …

“I … I’d forgotten. Sir.” Gaeta backed up further

“You are relieved of duty, Mr. Gaeta. Report to your quarters and stay there. See what else you can remember.”

“But, sir-”

“I said I wouldn’t send you to the airlock. Dismissed.” Gaeta, his shoulders slumped, left the room before Adama did something they would both regret.

Turning, Adama put both hands against the strategy board and hung his head. The rigid muscles in his neck stretched painfully, transferring the sensation down the length of his back. He took his first deep breath in hours and realised instantly that it was a mistake. The frenzy of activity that had filled the last few hours had kept his mind occupied, enabled him to project authority and calm. Alone, his guard down, Roslin ceased to be President and became simply the woman he loved. The transition was jarring; emotions rattling what had been organized thought. His vision blurred and he took a second breath, this time sharp, and forced himself to stand upright. I’ll bring her home. He swept a hand under the frames of his glasses. It came away wet.

***Supply Carrier Bounty
Civilian quarters.
1825 hrs.

“On your knees, Pilot. Now.” The room had cleared of Colonists. Kara and Roslin were standing with their backs to the man holding the gun. Kara‘s hands were neatly folded behind her head. The man had tried to force Roslin into the same position but her throbbing right shoulder wouldn’t allow her hand to reach. Instead she appeared to be retaking the oath of office. Blood dripped from Kara’s arm. When both women went to kneel, the gun barrel poked into Roslin’s back.

“Not you.”

She stopped halfway to the floor and returned to standing, Kara‘s arm brushing her side as she stood. She caught Kara’s gaze as the younger woman settled on her knees. The burly man started to bring his gun to the back of Kara’s head.

“What are you doing?” Roslin hissed. When he didn’t respond, Roslin saw the intent in his eyes and forced herself to move. She stepped sideways as she turned her body around. The barrel of his gun met her chest as she stood between him and Kara.

“No.” She said calmly. No one else would die for her today. Not if she had a choice.

He stepped back, startled, his eyes wild. “Out of the way. If she had surrendered in the hanger deck, she would not have been harmed. This was your choice, not mine.”

“You kill her and Adama will hunt you like a dog.” She met his gaze and held it. “She’s the best pilot left. In our entire civilization. Our pilots are our only protection from the Cylons; you wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for her . You have what you want. Please, don’t.” He studied her for a few seconds and then grabbed what he knew to be her tender shoulder and shoved, throwing her easily to the floor.

She heard movement as she fell. Gunshots rang out, the sound hurting her ears. No!

“Frak!” His voice was punctuated by gunshots. Searching the floor she found her glasses in time to see a path of bullet holes along the wall. Kara must have used her distraction to escape back into the air duct. She strained to hear if Kara was still moving.

“Frak! Come ’ere.” The man reached down and grabbed Roslin under her good arm, hauling her to her feet.

***

“What’s up with Gaeta?” Tigh was seated on the sectional, a pounding headache beginning to form. “I swear to the Gods I’ll never trust that man again.”

“He has an interesting theory. I want to talk to Major Cottle before I decide what to do with it.” Adama was seated; his elbows were propped on his desk and he was staring down at its surface intently.

“Cottle?”

“Drop it for now, Saul.” Very few people knew the exact details of Laura’s cure and Tigh was not one of them. That information would have the same effect on the fleet as a hollow point bullet on the human body. It would shatter on impact, damage multiple areas, and the fragments would be impossible to remove. Until he was sure, he wasn’t sharing.

Tigh changed the subject. “You’re not seriously considering putting that ass in charge?”

“That ‘ass’ is also the Vice President of the Colonies.” Adama sounded distracted. “I’m still not sure what got into her.”

Saul considered that for a moment and had a small, for him, epiphany. “She owed him.”

“For what?” Adama didn’t look up.

“I seem to recall that after you threw her ass in the brig and she managed to escape, it was Zarek who hid her. Zarek who got her to Kobol. Politically, she owed him a favour.” Tigh paused. “Still, it seems too simple.”

“Mmm hmm.”

“And I found Earth yesterday. It’s been nuked all to hell.”

“I see.”

“You’re not listening to me are you?”

When Adama didn’t respond, Saul stood and quietly covered the distance between the couch and the desk. There he saw what had captured his friend’s attention.

Adama felt more than saw Saul approach the desk. Roslin looked back at him from the photo on its surface. She had that same measured gaze that reflected strength mixed with a kind of maternal warmth that most of the fleet was used to seeing from her. Her hands were folded neatly against her lap, her legs crossed almost casually at the knee.

Adama had to admit that ever since Kobol, and perhaps before, he had expended more than a token amount of effort appreciating Laura Roslin’s graceful form. He had thought he had kept his studies covert as he could not afford his growing affection for her to distract either of them from the work that had to be done. And Laura was dying; she didn’t have time for the attentions of a war hardened old man.

He’d tried desperately to bury his feelings but the reality was that the sicker she became, the more his emotions seemed to slip by his control.

So he had found himself kissing her, the velvet box containing his Admiral stars still in his hand the softness of the material paling in comparison to that of her lips. As brief as it was, she had responded and had given him a smile he had never seen her give anyone else. And he was hooked, worse than Tigh on ambrosia. Only Adama was far better at self-denial.

After her cure, she’d lost the election and the dismal reality of New Caprica had set in. There she was a school teacher, not a President, a healthy cancer survivor, not a dying woman. Time was no longer short and he had spent an entire day and night memorizing every curve of her body and every freckle on her soft skin. It was a heady kind of freedom they’d had then, a feeling they had never been able to recapture.

Then the Cylons came, turning her life into repeated torture and his into endless mind-numbing preparation for the rescue that had saved so many.

“Gods.”

“What is it?” Tigh leaned further over his shoulder.

“It’s a fake.”

“I thought Gaeta ran it and it came up clean?” Tigh studied the photo, trying to see what Adama apparently saw.

“He’s wrong. Laura told me what the Cylons did to her in detention.” The truth was that he’d seen it. Shelley Godfrey had visited him for a second time on Galactica and had managed to show him what the Cylons had done to her in their holding facility on New Caprica.

Tigh took a few steps back from the desk, confused. He’d been there when she had escaped detention, had seen her looking her worst. Pain had kept her up nights and, having much the same problem, he would sit and talk with her. Every night she had asked him not to tell Adama what had happened to her. He had given his word and he had kept it. Another burden lifted when Adama said that she’d told him.

“She looked like hell,” it came out as a harsh whisper, directed where he was looking at the floor. “Didn’t tell ’em a damned thing.”

Adama wished he had the time to ask what was behind the haunted look on Tigh’s face but this couldn’t wait. “Did you see her shoulder?”

Tigh sighed. “Yeah, bastards busted it pretty bad.”

Adama indicated the photo on the desk. “Look again and tell me I’m wrong, Saul,” he said quietly.

And there it was. Roslin was wearing that white blouse that hugged her body in all of the right places. The material was thin enough at the shoulder that he could easily tell that the photo was taken before New Caprica. Roslin’s shoulder and upper arm had been black and badly swollen as the result of a dislocation and fracture at the hands of the skin jobs. Even though six weeks had passed, there was still enough scar tissue to render her shoulders uneven. In the photo, her shoulders were perfect.

“They don’t have her.”

“And we’ve wasted a hell of a lot of time.” Adama wouldn’t look at him. “Or she’s dead.”

“I don’t think so; they lose all of their leverage if she dies.”

“It could have been an accident.” Adama said around the lump in his throat and the anger settling in his stomach. “Either way, it’s time to send in the marines, bloodbath or not.”

Adama’s comm buzzed loudly. He was across the room in a couple of strides, snatching the phone from its cradle.

“Adama.”

“Sir, you’re needed in CIC. We have a message from the Bounty.”

“On our way.”

***

Kara surprised herself at the sheer number of expletives that were on her tongue as she all but flew through the duct work. Not only had she lost the President, the crazy woman had nearly gotten herself killed saving the frak up that was Kara Thrace. President Roslin may have been a teacher but she had obviously failed math. There was no calculation she could think of that made a Viper pilot more important than the leader of civilization.

The terrorists probably wouldn’t kill her, at least not right away. This meant she probably had time for the most risky of her escape plans. If she succeeded, she hoped Roslin would forgive her.

She knew she couldn’t go far, there were still too many Colonists interested in the ducts. Satisfied that she was far enough away, she peered through grate after grate looking for … there. She pushed the grate out with her feet and dropped into their cabin, pocket knife in her hand.

The two women in the room screamed in shock and held to each other, backing away from Kara.

“Take whatever you want,” the older woman said as if this happened every day. Conditions being as they were, maybe it did happen that often.

“It’s ok. Really. Just stay quiet and I won’t hurt you. I need some clothes.”

Their captors had used the packed ship to their advantage. Well two could play at that game.

***

Continued in part 4